A Simple Explanation
by Aisalynn
Summary: [The Prestige] I was once Rupert Angier, world renowned stage magician. I was once Lord Colderdale, 14th Earl of Colderdale. I am neither of those things now.Angier begins a new journal after the death of his prestige. Novel based.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: I do not in anyway own The Prestige, movie or book. I am not making money with this story. I am not enjoying writing this disclaimer.**_

**AN: This story is entirely NOVEL BASED, 'cause I just finished the novel and I've only seen the movie once. And that was months ago. This takes place after the novel, so there are SPOILERS for it. Just so you're warned. **

_November 7, 1904_

My name is Rupert. Sometimes it is Rob, and other times Robbie. I was once Rupert Angier, the world renowned stage magician. I was once Lord Colderdale, the 14th Earl of Colderdale. But now I am neither of those things. My existence as both ended separately as a result of an injury during a performance and cancerous ulcers. One of which I died from.

I am writing this four months after my death, mostly because it has been a habit to write in a journal all my life. I had once, as a young boy, picked up the pen with the intention of writing down my life's story. I have succeeded, and that journal is locked in the bowels of my family tomb, amongst the prestige materials. I am now writing in a fresh journal, leather bound with a key, just as I like them, because I could not bring myself to take that journal with me. That journal is for the story of my life. And the existence I have now…

Is certainly not living.

_November 8, 1904_

When I had finished the last journal I did so with the intention of using Tesla's apparatus to transport me back into my prestige, which was in a coffin awaiting burial. I was sure that by doing this, I would either reanimate the body and heal the sores and wound by which it died, or succumb to death along with it. Neither were correct. In the million of a second it too to transport I went from the cellar to the coffin. The stench of rotting meat immediately filled my nostril and I chocked and gagged. I was so dark! I could not see. Had I succeeded? Was I even now healing my body, causing the heart to pump and push blood into veins, reanimating the stiff flesh? Or was I dying? Was I to be trapped, conscious, in the dead body of my prestige?

In a panic I thrust my hands hard against the lid of the coffin, and I moaned when I realized my hands merely passed through. I rolled to the right, passing through the coffin and crashing in a heap on the floor. I gulped the fresh air. I had not been in the coffin for more than a few seconds but the stench still clung to me, causing me to gag and tremble, a convulsing, sobbing mess on the floor.

"My Lord?"

I jerked in surprise. Hutton was in the doorway, forehead wrinkled in concern. I forced myself to calm down and get up from the floor. Smoothing down the sleeves of my jacket I noticed with relief that there were no sign of sores on my body. The thought of that nearly sent me tumbling to floor again. I took a deep breath. "I am leaving, Hutton," I said to him as calmly as I could. "And I won't be coming back."

Hutton nodded, "Yes, sir."

"But I need a few things taken care of." He nodded again. "Good. The Tesla apparatus, I want disassembled and put back in the crates. Keep them in the cellar. And make sure all the directions are with it. There is also the matter of the prestige material I left in the cellar," Hutton's eyes slid from me to the coffin and then back to me again. I hesitated. "I'm not sure what exactly I left behind… but dispose of it in anyway you see fit. And my journal. It's sitting on the desk in my room."

"Would you like me to fetch it for you, my Lord?"

I shook my head. "No. I want you to take it to the tomb and make sure no one else finds it."

If he thought this request odd, he didn't show it. Instead he nodded in that way of his and said, "Very well, sir. Is there anything else you would like me to do?"

"Just…tell Julia and the children goodbye for me. Other than that…goodbye, I suppose."

"Goodbye, sir." He smiled a little, and were I not in this spectral form I suspect he would have grasped my hand affectionately. As it was, we merely shared one last nod, and I was striding past him into the hall beyond and then out the front door and away from Colderdale House forever.

_November 29, 1904_

It has been months since I left Colderdale and my existence since then has not been a pleasant once. Unable to live among other human beings, I cling to the shadows when I travel, avoiding any artificial light, which makes my skin transparent, so that I take the form of a ghastly specter, a hallowed face, dark eyed demon from hell. During the day I continue to wear greasepaint on my face, but my presence still brings others a significant amount of unease, so I spend my time alone.

I am once again in a state where I wish for death but am unable to kill myself. I despair.

_London__December 11, 1904_

I paid a visit to Borden this evening. This, of course, breaks the oath I made to leave everything of my former life behind, to forget old loves, old claims, old feuds. But Borden, his presence in this world, just as it always has, pulls at me in some way.

I was traveling the streets of London, wearing the outfit that I always do when I want to be invisible, when I passed the theatre where Le Profeseur de Magie was performing. I found myself inexplicably curious about him. Not about the show, for I knew that Borden's The New Transported Man would not be performed, but about Borden himself. Which of the brothers died that night at the London flat? Was Borden living successfully in the illusion he turned his life into, or was he falling apart without his double? Determined to find the answers, I snuck into the theatre and into the magician's dressing room. I would wait there until the snow ended and Borden arrived.

Borden did not seem me at first. Walking through the door he tossed his top hat on the loveseat on collapsed beside it. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back with a sigh. Borden did not look well. The lines around his eyes were more pronounced, and he had the drawn, haggard look of someone who lost too much weight in too short a time.

"Hello, Borden."

He sat up with a gasp, his eyes wide as they searched the room. "Who's there?" His voice was harsh, breathing erratic.

I stepped out from my corner. "Just me."

Borden was gripping the arm of the loveseat with his left hand, and his wide eyes were fixed on me. "_Angier,"_ he croaked. "How?"

I sat down in the armchair across from him. "You did this to me. The night you unplugged the apparatus in Lowestoft. The transportation was interrupted, and I was split in two." It didn't bother me that I was giving away my secret to In A Flash. I was no longer performing, and neither could Borden ever perform his version again. Both our magic acts were now only ruins.

"But you are dead!" he cried. "And yet I have seen you twice since your death!" I could not tell if he meant that he was the one who suffered through my mad attempt at murder or if "I" referred to his brother. But I could not question it then, Borden was close to hysteria.

"That night I was split in two," I said again. "I ended up a mere doppelganger of myself, a soul with no solid form. The other me had the original body but in a weakened form. He could not move without over straining the body, and his immune system was severely damaged. That night we became two separate entities of the same person." I thought that this was something he could understand, better than I could, even. "It was the other Rupert Angier that died."

We were silent for a moment as he absorbed this.

Borden finally spoke. "And you are here to avenge him? To once more try to take my life?" His knuckles were very white against the dark fabric of the loveseat that he gripped.

I sighed wearily. "I have given up on my revenge. I should never have sought it. It was after all, the lust for revenge that led me to this." I waved a translucent hand at my body.

There was another moment of silence, this one longer than the last, and it seemed like it would just keep continuing, with the two of us sitting together in silence. Angier and Borden, both half the man they once were, both only living this life because they had no other choice, both finally, and absolutely alone. Perhaps it was my curiosity that caused me to finally break the silence, or perhaps the silence, and the revelations that came with it, was simply too horrifying for me. "Borden," I said quietly, "which one are you?"

He reared back as if I had hit him. "I… I don't know what you are talking about."

I sighed in exasperation. "Which twin brother? Frederick or Albert?"

"Angier, I have no twin. My name is—"

"Give up the illusion, Borden! I have read, and _published_ your journal!" I was standing now, looming dangerously above him as I roared. "I have talked to a man who saw the two of you together and what's more, I have seen you together! Now, let go of the secret and tell me, _which one are you?"_

"ALFRED!" he screamed. "My name is Alfred! I have no twin! I am alone! ALONE!"

His panicked scream knocked me from my rage and allowed me to look at him. His face was pale and shiny with sweat, and he was trembling a great deal. His hands clenched and unclenched sporadically on the cushion on the sofa. I realized that despite my telling him that I had no intention of revenge, he was still frightened of me. I also realized one other thing when I peered into the very wide, flickering eyes: there was madness in them.

I took a step back and attempted to regain my composure. "Forgive me," I muttered. "I did not come here tonight to rekindle old feuds. In fact, I had hoped to finally put them to rest. I want to apologize for all my actions over the years, they were pointless, and they helped no one. Certainly not me. I realize that had I merely responded to the letter you wrote years ago this could have all been avoided. But I was stubborn and fool hearted, and I deeply regret not doing so. I am very sorry." With that I swept him my best performance bow, and with only one more glance at the crumpled figure on the settee, I was out the door.

I spent several hours afterwards roaming the streets in London, invisible to all who passed me by. I spent these hours contemplating my once rival. I came to two realizations. The first was that Borden had spent his whole life being one half of a whole, but more than that, he spent his whole life, _believing_ that he was one half of a whole. Believing that he and his brother were actually one in the same. There was no separation of "me" and "you," no real differences in opinions or goals. _They were the same man_. They did not live their lives creating an illusion for the world to believe, theybelieved the illusion, _lived_ in the illusion. And even now, with one of the brothers dead, Borden clings to that illusion. He is not Albert or Frederick, he is not a surviving twin, he is not a whole man. He is _Alfred._

The second realization was that despite Borden's extensive magical knowledge, despite his showmanship and his skill at making the audiences believe the impossible, despite the arrogant air he had when it came to performance magic—even in his own journal—all Borden's tricks could be broken down to that first simple rule: that behind every great illusion is a simple and disappointing explanation. This is why he feared me so. I had thought, that as a fellow magician he might be able to understand the lengths one goes to for a performance. After all, he and his twin brother had lived their entire lives as a single person! But I had broken the rule; I had stepped outside the borders of stage magic and into something else, something dangerous. Unlike even Borden's highly coveted trick, which had a simple, explanation, my illusion wasn't an illusion at all. Mine was _real. _

I was struck by how different, and yet, how similar our situation was. Borden is now struggling with the fact that all his life had been nothing but an illusion. And I, I am struggling with the thought that my reality, my _life_, would have been better off it _was_ an illusion.

But enough of this. If these are the type of contemplations that meeting with Borden rouse, I shall not see him again. I am resolved.

**End Chapter One. **


	2. Chapter 2

_January 4, 1905_

It seems many resolutions are broken when Alfred Borden is involved. I can say something in my defense, however: I did not seek him out. I came upon him completely by coincidence.

I have long since avoided the busy parts of London at night. The new bright, harsh, electric light shines easily through my transparent flesh, making my whole body glow. And I have become weary of being either a ghost or an invisible man among living people. Instead, because I cannot stand to be in my dingy flat for long, I have taken to roaming the darker parts of London. And the park where I found Borden, while it is a bustling place of activity during the day, is certainly very dark at night.

He was sitting slumped on a park bench, still in _le Profeseur_ garb. His show had ended hours ago, so he must have been sitting there a good deal of time. I might have questioned his sanity for being alone in a cold, snow filled park in the middle of the night if I didn't already know two things of significance: one, that I had already seen the madness lurking in his eyes and two, that this was the meeting place he and his brother would go to when they needed to converse face to face.

His head turned slightly, the only indication that he knew I was there. All his attention was fixed on his hands, which were rolling a coin quickly, expertly between his fingers. I, too, watched his hands. They were pale, but chapped from the cold, and long fingered with closely cropped nails. I watched the muscles flex and release underneath the skin as he passed the coin from one finger to another, from one hand to another, never slowing or faltering. His movements were fast, confident and unconscious. With one flick of the wrist the coin disappeared. With another twist it reappeared in the other hand. The coin continued in its twirling path until one coin became two and two coins became a single playing card: the Suicidal King.

He held the card out to me and I took it, concentrating so it didn't fall straight through my hand. "Tell me, Angier," he said, his eyes focused on the card, "is there one King or two?"

I stared at the card, at the sword the King was thrusting through his own head, at the bright, glossy red that contrasted so sharply against the white of the card, of the snow. I thought of Borden and his twin, of me and my prestige, of wanting to die and not having the courage. "Perhaps it is both," I said. "Both one and two, depending on the person."

He finally looked at me as he took the card back. A mocking smile twisted his lips. "A very diplomatic answer. Quite appropriate for the Lord of Colderdale."

I said nothing.

"It doesn't matter," he said dismissively, "It's only an illusion anyway." A simple movement of his hands and the card was gone and the two coins were back. He flicked one at me, and without a thought I reached out my hand to catch it. The coin passed through my open palm and landed in the snow. It made a small dark hole in the white powder, and for a minute we both stood still, just looking at it. But I couldn't stand to look on it too long, to think about what it meant, what it gave away about this body I was forced with. Instead I turned my gaze to the bare branches of the tress and bushes, the carefully cultivated wild that was now smothered under a layer of white.

I shivered and pulled my dark coat tighter around me. I was _cold_. It always struck me with a sort of bitter humor that even though I am forced into the wandering life of a ghost I still have the physical weaknesses of a living man—hunger, thirst, sleep and the cold, always the cold. I noticed that Borden didn't seem to mind the cold and wondered if losing half of my body would make me always susceptible to it.

I rewrapped my scarf and took a step back. "You should probably go home, Borden. I'm sure your family is worried about you." He nodded, but his eyes were glazed and focused on something other than the physical, probably memories of his brother. I sighed and walked away. It was not my duty to stop my old rival from freezing to death.

At the entrance to the park I looked back. I could still see him there, a still figure in evening clothes slumped on a stone bench. I wondered if he would go home at all, or if he came here to mourn, came to the one place they were allowed to be two. I stood there for a moment and paid my own respect to the dead Borden twin, though which one he was, I knew not.

_January 13, 1905_

The landlord came today to collect this months rent for the flat I am occupying at present. The amount I pay for this run down, must filled flat is at least twice the amount it is worth, but Latchet is one of the few landlords I've found that will harbor a suspicious man who always hides his face and disappears at odd times during the night. The extra money doesn't make him anymore agreeable, however: he grumbled and cursed through out his visit. And he didn't appreciate the old money behind the ear trick either.

That was the last of the funds I took from Colderdale. Since I cannot perform and no one will hire a transparent man, I will have to steal to live again.

_January 19, 1905_

I waited for Borden in his dressing room tonight. He's had a steady stream of bookings, so it wasn't hard to find what theater he was performing at. I started a fire in the fire place, pushed a chair close to it and sat down to wait. I did not have to wait long: I came near the end of the show and it wasn't twenty minutes before I heard the fast approaching footsteps of Borden.

The footsteps slowed when they reached the door. Perhaps because he could see the flicker of the firelight under the door and knew someone was in the room. The door opened slowly and cautiously but was quickly shut when Borden saw me. "So," Borden said, "you're back again."

"Yes."

He pulled the other chair across from mine and collapsed in it. It was the first time since the night I attacked him that I had worn less than my full winter gear, so his eyes studied me, traveling over my face, arms and hands. The firelight gave warmth to my skin and the illusion of solidity, but I knew that if he looked close enough he would see through me to the chair underneath. I only truly appear solid and whole in full, bright sunlight. After just a few moments his eyes came to rest firmly on mine. "You tell me that you are not dead." His voice was calm, even, and unemotional. "Yet you only come to me at night, appearing and disappearing without notice, and even looking like a wraith just escaped from hell. Why is this? Why night?" All signs of madness had left his eyes, and he no longer resembled the fearful, shaking man of months ago, or the dazed and passionless man in the snow that I saw just a few weeks ago. The cool, steady look he gave me convinced me once again that we would have done well as comrades, rather than enemies. This thought, and perhaps my own need for any human conversation, convinced me to tell Borden the truth.

"I am… no longer comfortable in the presence of other people. Or rather, they are not comfortable with my presence. You see, even during the day, when my appearance is most… normal, I still do not appear to be a nice, wholesome human being." I smiled wryly. "So I have taken to going out at night, where I can disappear in the shadows, or avoid people all together."

"That doesn't explain why you seek me out. Why seek the company of your hated rival?" The tone of his voice, I noted with interest, was bitter.

I phrased my answer carefully. "Because… you are the only one I can seek out. The Great Danton is dead, as is Lord Colderdale, so I cannot go to any of my old companions. And besides, I do not know how they would react to seeing me like this. In all likely-hood they would think I had come from back from the grave." I smiled slightly as I imagined their reactions, and then became serious once more. "You are the only one who knows me as I truly am now. So I seek out your company, despite that you are you are my rival." And it was here that I realized that Borden was not, in fact, my rival anymore. Indeed, I held no animosity towards him whatsoever. No need for revenge or triumph over him, no lingering resentment for what he had done. And then came another realization, the real reason I was drawn to Borden. "More than all this, I think you know what it is like. I was ripped in half, in mind, body and soul. Half of me is dead. I feel incomplete, empty. I am not dead, but I am not alive either. You, better than anyone, knows what this is like. That is why I visit you." I paused for a moment, contemplating my next words. "You make me feel alive."

I looked away from the fire, where I had been staring at during my explanation, and at Borden. I saw something in his expression that I never thought I would share with my old rival, the once bane of my existence: understanding.


End file.
